Not a Masterpiece
by GenbokuGankua214
Summary: Rin wishes for the one who can let her go and welcome her with open arms, the one who is unmoved and apathetic, strong and magnificent. She thought it was Sesshoumaru, but then, memories of a former life are telling her there's more than meets the eye.
1. Little Wish

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha and I do not hope to. Inuyasha is purely the work of its creator and to claim otherwise would be strange as the characters we use and have fallen in love with are in fact originally made by that one specific person. (Note - I'm not saying the name of the creator of Inuyasha because I have forgotten and in consideration of the names I think it might be, I can't be quite sure due to my confusion.)

Chapter 1: Little Wish

Everything rushed past her. One moment, she was a high school student with no passions or ambitions, full of little images and fantasies that fleeted through her head. Then she was an artist and performer and writer, given her own studio, supplies provided and paid with no deadlines, resources off hand in all directions, quality production and replication at the tip of her fingers by the press of a button, all as she attended AP and honor classes. She wasn't the brightest student, but she managed an A minus average. She wasn't aware of social gatherings and parties, more so burning with a hatred for the useless makings of obnoxious inane chatter. She was a girl of many talents, of which she would never acknowledge or admit to, but no matter how good, she was too good and art, words, the starlight lost their appeal.

People praised her and people insulted her. So many seemed to hate her, looking down on her for reasons she couldn't fathom. Was it that she truly lacked talent? Was it that she counted as an outcast? Was it that her looks were dull and pathetic? Maybe it was simply her. No one wants a girl with so many "talents" and yet no ambitions whatsoever. No cares for money or power, no cares for advancing in the world, people couldn't understand her simple wishes.

They couldn't understand that all she wanted was someone to talk to, someone to sit with in the silence and let her be herself. When she left or walked away, they wouldn't question, disturb, or even protest. They'd let her go, whether or not they felt some kind of insecurity or sadness. She could run and fly with the wings she would learn to appreciate, loving the freedom that only she managed to reach, and then when she comes down, when she lands on earth again as she always does, she can return to them, finding herself welcomed in open arms. Even if they want to protect her, to love and care for her, to keep her beside them, they'd let her go and wait with blessed patience for her return because if they were willing to wait, she was always willing to return a little earlier.

But who in the world was like that? Someone so similar to her and yet, he is worlds apart. In truth, she didn't even care if it was another she. As long as she had her companion, her love, her…life, she would be content. The person would be more than a partner, more than a mere lover or spouse. When she thought about it, she didn't think there was even a word for it. Soulmate seemed the closest, but the term felt hollow and…as if it still wasn't enough. She didn't want that. All she needed was something a little more, something that would be her only.

They would be everything in her life.

They would be her closest friend, her guardian, her support, her partner, her forever, her…rock or her tree. As still and apathetic as stone, as strong and magnificent as a tree, no one could understand why she would want such a cold person, but in truth, she was cold herself. If it weren't for the heart beating inside her, for the blood in her veins that pumped and pulsed and flowed, for the wild spirit that roared with the flames and danced with the winds and breathed with the waters, she would be heartless and she wouldn't be living. If anything, hate would consume her, sadness would crush her, and loneliness would kill her. From it all, she then created this ideal person, an ideal person she knew she would never have in this society created by man.

- - - - - - - - - -

With a click, she turned the lock and walked into the condo. Opening the door, she stared down a barren corridor with two doors on either side and at the end, opened up into a good sized living room. She glanced down for a moment, recognizing a pair of shoes that meant mother was home. As she quietly shut the door, she slipped of her shoes and called out, "What's for dinner?"

"What do you want" came the instant reply. She smiled. There were no hellos or goodbyes in this household. That's what she loved about the woman who adopted her. As close as she would ever come to her ideal person, her mother was as strong and as magnificent as a tree, but not still and apathetic like stone. Both of them were always moving. They were kindred spirits who walked out and walked back in as they pleased. That's why for them, "hello" and "goodbye" didn't exist.

"What can we have," Rin asked, shuffling down the corridor to grab her mother's attention. When she emerged into the living room, the adjoining kitchen wafted with the smell of fresh pasta, sliced fruits, steamed vegetables and roasted chicken. Standing at the counter was a middle aged woman with long black hair, tied back with a blue band and failing in its attempt to hold back the big curls of her unruly hair. The woman paused in slicing a golden apple, turning lively gray eyes to her. Rin pouted instantly. "Why ask me if you already made dinner?"

The woman's light pink lips curved into a teasing smile as gray eyes seemed to laugh. With a shrug, her mother answered, "You know me. You ask the question as a greeting, so I will give the expected greeting." Turning back to the cutting board, Rin's mother resumed the task of slicing fruit and making a stunning image of reds, greens, whites, oranges, pinks, purples, and blues.

"That doesn't justify it," Rin replied, stepping closer to her mother. Her chocolate eyes rested on the well-arranged assortment of sliced fruits, such as oranges, mangoes, and pears. Some grapes, raspberries, blueberries, and slices of strawberries added a decorative touch that added to the picture-perfect display. "Why aren't you a cook," Rin asked.

As the woman finished, she mildly countered, "Why aren't you a singer, or an artist, or a writer, or maybe doctor?"

At the last occupation, Rin tilted her head in question. "Doctor?"

Her mother nodded. "Grab your plate." The two began taking portions of the pasta, vegetables and chicken, all the while her mother explained, "You have good hands, why not use them? You could be a physical therapist or a chiropractor, just not a masseur. Who knows what could happen in those private rooms." At her mother's huff, Rin couldn't resist a chuckle. They glanced at each other.

Suddenly they were laughing. There was no reason. Neither needed a reason. It was simply the joy of each other's company. So happy not to be alone, twelve years still wasn't enough for them to get over the happiness they felt as mother and daughter. And it made them both laugh, cry, and smile for no reason, alone or in public, in the car or at home, who cared? There was unspoken understanding in short answers and small gestures, in the silence and in the midst of family.

When they calmed and sat down on the long couch, only turning on the stereo, Rin was the first to speak. "Kaa-san po."

Being Japanese, Rin was prone to using Japanese terms and honorifics as her sign of endearment towards her family. Her mother had accepted it, but her mother was a second generation Filipino and an American, therefore Rin was expected to add "po" to the end of her sentences as a sign of respect to her mother, and anyone older for that matter. As long as Rin used "po," then her mother could accept being called "okaa-san" or "kaa-san" rather than "nanai."

"Yes, Kring-kring," her mother answered. It was a feature of Filipino culture. Adults created nicknames for kids, which was usually a simple repetition of one syllable. Rin could still recall the first day she heard her mother use it on her…

Back then, her mother lived in a small house. Her mother said to learn the house on her own; it would be better that way. In little Rin's arms, she carried a green blanket with a pattern of light pink cherry blossoms in one corner and a white teddy bear with her name on it in beautifully embroidered kanji, the only gifts she had left to remind her of her real parents. Never letting go of her blanket and bear, she began exploring the house, learning the smells, the sounds, and the sights. For several hours, a six year old Rin wandered the halls and rooms, looking at ornaments and all the foreign attributes. She was accustomed to Japanese living, not a Filipino-American's.

There were pictures of family everywhere. One shelf she found was littered with photo albums. The place was well-kept and had a certain scent going around. The walls had little decoration aside from the paintings of Jesus and the twelve apostles, as well as one ornament where a giant fork and spoon were hung. In one room, Rin was so enraptured by her new mother's many collections of souvenir spoons, expensive tea sets, and foreign alcohol bottles, cleaned and kept in excellent condition, that she walked straight into the leaves of a certain plant, one Rin is always weary to walk around. Rin found straw mats, a sacred heart, wooden figures, and saved bottles of Orange Royale and little soap dishes that held Filipino currency.

Everything seemed a little big for Rin. As she was small for her age, the barren uncluttered spaces, the towering cabinets and shelves, after a while, she felt the house had more space than needed for one person. Then she remembered that it was only one person living here. All of her mother's family were either in the Philippines, waiting to come to the US, or in her new aunt's house, a larger and more extravagant looking abode.

At last, she came to a room that appeared to be another bedroom. There was a full-sized mattress on a wooden bed frame, a desk, and when she walked in, a closet to the right of the door. Between the desk and the bed was a rather large window that if little Rin stood on her tiptoes, she could rest her forearms on with only slight discomfort. Turning around, she spotted a black duffel bag against the left wall. She recalled her new mother mentioning that her stuff would be taken to her new room as she explored the house. Unsure, she called out to the woman. "Okaa-san, Okaa-san!"

Within a few moments, her new mother appeared at the door, donning a half apron, drying tanned brown hands on a towel. There was a quirk to the woman's brow and an amused smile on her lips. "Okaa-san, am I to sleep here po?" At the strange phrase, her mother stifled a laugh and nodded behind a lithe hand. Confused, Rin tilted her head at her new mother. Wanting to know, she queried, "Why is Okaa-san laughing?"

"Nothing, Kring-kring," her new mother replied. Then her mother walked out, leaving little Rin to make her own bed and settle in. Setting down the blanket and bear in her arms, she began working around the mattress, puzzling over who was Kring-kring. After a while, she let it go and moved to taking out the clothes in the duffel bag. Finding the shelves to the right side of the closet, little Rin tried to fold and organize her clothes just as she had seen in her new mother's walk-in closet. The folding was sloppy, but she managed.

A short time later, she picked up her bear and walked out. Walking down into the kitchen's entrance, she asked, "Who is Kring-kring po?"

Busy in the kitchen, her new mother absently answered, "Kring-kring."

Again, Rin asked, "Who is Kring-kring?"

And the reply was yet again, "Kring-kring."

Little Rin tried several more times, but received the same answer each and every time. Then she finally stopped, admitting that her new mother was too distracted to answer, so she waited, holding tightly to her bear, distressed and confused. As her new mother finished, the woman suddenly uttered, "Take a seat at the table, Kring-kring."

She realized then that the woman was calling her Kring-kring. Distressed, she burst out, "Rin is not Kring-kring! Rin is Rin, not Kring-kring!" Little Rin buried her face into the head of her bear, holding tightly, trying to avoid crying. "I'm Rin," she sniffled. Then out of the blue, she heard a fit of laughter peel out above her. Pulling away, she stared in shock as her new mother laughed joyously. Overly confused, she felt distressed again and panicked. "Why is okaa-san laughing?"

Her new mother calmed down, spotting little Rin's distress. The woman smiled gently and knelt down. "Rin," the woman said softly, "in my culture, adults usually create little names for the children they are fond of or feel close to."

Rin wasn't as confused, but tilted her head a little, wanting her new mother to explain a little more. Understanding, her new mother continued, "Names like Krang-krang, Tal-tal, or Bing-bing. When I was little, my aunts and uncles called me Tin-tin."

"Tin-tin," Rin repeated, becoming happier. Her new mother nodded. "So I'm Kring-kring," Rin confirmed. Her mother nodded, supplying, "Until you decide you don't want the name anymore or you have your debu."

"Deh-boo," Rin repeated slowly.

"Debu," her new mother confirmed, "In my culture, it is a girl's coming-of-age celebration, when they're eighteen."

"So until I decide," Rin tested carefully, "or when I have my debu, you will call me Kring-kring?"

Her new mother looked at her in consideration. "Sometimes Kring-kring, sometimes Rin," the woman paused, "do you mind?"

Rin shook her head, now smiling and hiding it behind the head of her bear. Her mother grinned, patting her on the head before standing...

"Rin?"

Snapping out of her daze, seventeen year old Rin looked back at her mother who was now laughing at her quietly. She smiled. She then pretended to pout, digging into her pasta hungrily. "Rin," she nodded her head, "What is it you were going to say?"

Slurping the last noodle, Rin shook her head and uttered, "I forgot."

"Well next time, remember," her mother scolded teasingly, "I don't want to pay for therapy. You're too young to have Alzheimer's."

"Okaa-san!"

"Kidding."


	2. Stranger

Chapter 2: Stranger

Faced with a Saturday, Rin slept in, which was only around eight or nine. Checking the clock, closing in around nine, she shifted out of bed, dashing to the shower. There wasn't a need to rush, but in her mind, there was all the need. A single figure was caught in her head, a man she couldn't believe she had forgotten until now. Last night, she dreamed of him and the memory came back in the last few hours…

When she was eight, she and her mother flew back to Japan for a vacation. The third night there, her mother was asked to attend some sort of social gathering. Both she and her mother had groaned at the idea. Parties and social gatherings were evil and boring, unless with the family, but as it wasn't the family, they were prepared for torture. However, they then found out it was an adults-only occasion. Trying to restrain her laughter, Rin apologized to her gloomy mother who kept saying, "I'm wearing black because I'm going to mourn for my soul…Rin, you'll wear black too. It would take too long to call my family and tell them to pity me."

Rin quickly protested. Her mother gave up easily. Instead, her mother handed her a worn red kimono with short sleeves, no use wearing nice clothes if the girl was going to get dirty anyway. She thanked her mother, especially after feeling how comfortable it was. When she was by the door, she decided no shoes for tonight. Then taking out a hair tye, she gathered some strands of her hair, putting them up in a single side ponytail. It was her favorite style back then and still was, but she couldn't do so as often though.

Rin went out, exploring the streets, sneaking by like a shadow on the sidewalk. No one noticed her. With ease, she walked by stands and snatched forgotten fruit. She knew it was wrong to steal, but she was hungry and there was nothing left over in the hotel fridge. Not to mention, her new mother was too stingy to give money to eat somewhere. The woman had explicitly said, "I'm not giving you money. Just steal some from the stands. Trust me, you'll find stuff more interesting that way and if you find you don't like something, sneak it into someone's bag."

"That's wrong," Rin pouted.

Her mother shrugged, "I do it all the time."

"But you have plenty of money," Rin pointed out.

Again, her mother shrugged carelessly. "So?"

Rin ended up doing it anyway, despite how wrong she believed it to be. There was little guilt and of what little she felt, it pestered her until she felt annoyed by its presence. Getting over the small tinge of guilt, she picked from stands, tasting by cutting out slivers with a pocket knife she had taken from her mother's suitcase. If she liked it, she finished. If she didn't, she either tossed it into a nearby trashcan or sneaked it into some woman's purse.

At the seventh stand, she was caught. A young man about seventeen stared at her, stopping her from leaving. He was dressed in black sweats and a red with black lines sweater. A red cap with a dog emblem covered his head, yet couldn't hide his long silver hair. From beneath the hood of the cap, his bright amber eyes gazed down at her. She was hidden, but he was not and was greeted by the stand owner. As he forced out a low greeting, considered rude in some respects but teasing, she set back the fruit on the stand. However, he glanced over her then and asked, "Are you hungry, runt?"

By his tone, she figured it was a sort of endearment for the strange man. She shook her head sullenly. She lowered her head. Suddenly, she heard the young man say, "Hey old man, I'll buy this!"

She stared at him in shock. He smirked. "Only one," asked the stand owner.

Facing the stand owner, the young man replied, "It's just for my little sister," and right then, he reached out and picked her up. Rin was about to struggle, but she had a feeling she was safe with him. Meeting the stand owner face-to-face, she was greeted with a warm and cheery smile. Her mood lifted through the roof and she smiled back, laughed even.

"Aw, what a cute girl," came a voice from the back. Just then, a young woman, a worker it seemed, rushed out from the back and proceeded to fawn over Rin. The sudden overwhelming attention distressed Rin. Before she could look at the young man for help, the bit of fruit was handed back to her and they walked away, both saying goodbye.

After a block or so, the young man set her down. Rin thanked him, bowing in gratitude. Just as he was about to say goodbye, he straightened and turned his gaze down a nearby alley. The alley headed into the backstreets and was mostly dark, little light to penetrate the night's shadows. Rin then noticed that he was sniffing the air, but was subtle about it. Only she saw this action. She backed a step, hearing him growl under his breath. He seemed to have uttered a name, but as she registered it, he disappeared down the alley. He was gone.

Rin gazed down at the yellow fruit in her hands. She shrugged and walked on…

Nearing midnight, Rin decided it was time to return to the hotel. There was no trouble getting back. But as she passed a nearby alley, not even a block away, she heard movement in the darkness and light that led off into a small delivery space. Something scraped the walls before a weight dropped with a soft thud. Curiosity overtook her. With caution, she moved down the alley, a hand gliding along a building's wall, barely touching the cold surface. Step by step through the shadows, walking slowly towards the distant dimming light.

Something cracked on the sidewalk behind her. When she wasn't looking, she walked right into the corner. A deep vicious growl sounded throughout the alley as she flinched back, caught off guard and slightly frightened.

Right then, she laid eyes on a young man about nineteen, wearing an expensive white suit with black and yellow patterns emphasizing red and blue lines, lying against the boarding dock with extraordinarily long white fur encircling him. His eyes were pure red, no white or iris. Long silver hair exactly like the moon, even having the celestial glow fluttered around his form like strands of the finest silk. There was a moon on his forehead, streaks on his cheeks, and his teeth elongated in his threatening guttural snarl. But he was injured and weak. He was acting like a wounded animal. The thought was sudden, yet quick and calmed Rin instantly. She held back her fear and approached the young man.

When she did, the red faded and irises formed. At first, she recalled the young man who had caught her and bought her the fruit, but it wasn't the same. This one was older, had a more refined manner, and most of all, his molting amber gaze was just that, intense like the flames of hell burning through one's skull. No emotion in the stone-like face, only the intensity and instantaneous hatred directed at her. As she drew closer, something came over Rin's mind. She was thinking of the man like stone and a tree. Still and apathetic as stone, strong and magnificent as a tree, she could see already, this man resembled that image…

That wasn't the end of it. Rin ran to the hotel, leaving the young man alone without explanation or word. She simply ran and when she reached the front desk, she asked for help. A man to help her and a luggage cart, but the adults wanted an answer. Reluctantly, she told them a man was stuck in an alley; she wanted to bring him here, so that her mother, a doctor, could look at him. The man at the front desk instantly obliged. Riding the luggage cart as the assisting man pushed it, they hurried to the man with silver hair's rescue.

When they reached him, the young man was out cold. With ease, they managed to get him on the luggage cart and walk him back to the hotel. Many people stared on the sidewalk, in the hotel lobby, and in the elevator. Only the assisting man was embarrassed. Rin didn't notice, sitting beside the injured young man and humming softly as she waited to see her hotel room.

In the room, Rin had the assisting man set the injured young man on her bed. Since her mother was home, she asked if the woman could give the assisting man a generous tip, which he received gratefully. He was excused. For the rest of the vacation, Rin took care of the young man, bringing him food and offerings. With an indifferent expression, he refused, saying things like "It is human sustenance" or "I am a demon, I have no need of such." Still, Rin persisted.

Her mother found amusement in her endearing care for the stranger. The woman had even commented that Rin didn't know his name or he hers. Even with her mother's words in her head, Rin never uttered a word to the stranger. She would sit down in the room and read or practice her writing. Sometimes, she would hum or practice pronunciation with accents. Her mother never came to correct her when she was with the stranger. The stranger would watch her silently, ignored as she would become enthralled in her newest activity. She always knew the stranger was listening, even in his sleep. It wasn't real sleep, but she considered it sleep. Then after all of her small activities, she would simply stand and leave the stranger to himself.

On the day Rin was to leave with her mother, a group of kids had picked on her while her mother was out. Rin came back to the room with scratches and bruises all over. They had played with her relentlessly with no choice, threatening her with danger towards the stranger or torture for her mother, so she had endured. Not caring to her current state, she prepared the usual offering and gave it to the stranger. He didn't look at her. She set the offering on the nightstand with some sadness. Right out of the silence then, his deep voice entranced her with the simple statement, "What happened to your face?" He tilted his head, but still not looking at her. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."

Surprised, Rin couldn't help smiling at the stranger, stifling a giggle at the realization that it was his show of concern and his first words to her at that. She knew he gazed at her, a question in his eyes on his indifferent face, but she didn't answer.

Rin and her mother left for the airport, leaving the stranger, saying he could stay for another couple days if he so decided. As they left, Rin uttered her first word to the stranger. How sad that the first word she spoke to him happened to be "Goodbye." She stopped to wave and then turned, running off without looking back at him. She took hold of her mother's hand, thinking of the stranger, but not attached enough to feel heartbroken or sad. At least, she shouldn't have, yet she did and glanced back one last time as they stepped through the door…

On the way to the airport, the car was stopped, caught in a traffic jam. Rin and her mother got out, deciding they could walk. They didn't have much luggage and the airport was maybe a mile away. Despite being eight, Rin could easily walk the distance without tiring, a pack on her shoulders. Her mother practically prepared her for it. However, they encountered some trouble as some men snatched them off the road, knocking them out.

The two woke up to beatings. Their bags were being ransacked as men hit them repeatedly, laughing and cracking jokes at them. Her mother embraced her, taking the brunt of the hits. Rin remained quiet, crying into her mother's shirt. She prayed someone, anyone to help them, and in her mind flashed the image of the stranger. They were growing weaker. Rin didn't want her mother to die, beaten to death…

All of a sudden, Rin caught sight of a blur of white. Some kind of glowing whip lashed out and sliced through the men. There were cries of fear, but as soon as they were heard, they disappeared. Blood splattered everywhere as the bodies fell to pieces. Her mother had fainted and Rin was on the verge of unconsciousness. But before she was out, she swore she saw cold molting amber orbs gaze down at her and she smiled as best she could for him before the darkness overtook her…

Plugging in her iPod and slipping into her shoes, Rin smiled to herself. She swung her backpack, heading out quietly. No goodbye.

Thinking of the molting golden irises, her heart was bursting with excitement and more so, happiness, pure unbridled bliss. She had to stop and clutch her hands to her heart. Under her breath so no one could hear, she murmured, "I can't believe I had forgotten you…but don't worry. Now, you'll be eternal."


	3. Captured

Chapter 3: Captured

Approaching the back door to the expensive, recently constructed arts center, Rin was greeted by a few dancers she knew. They hurried past her, mumbling incoherent greetings, stressed over the impending rehearsal and practice. "Good luck," she cried to them. "Thanks, Rin. We'll be needing it," the girls cried.

A woman came up, but this woman Rin knew. The woman was around seven to eight years older than Rin, sporting conserved and layered clothes. As always, the woman's long black hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. She wore black leggings under a tight green skirt lined with magenta, a light pink long coat adorned with magenta patterns, a magenta long-sleeved mid drift over a sleeveless black shirt, and brown open-toed heeled sandals. A red belt tied around her waist with long loose ends fluttering at her side. A little white cat with three tails, actually a demon, sat itself on the woman's shoulder, yawning as the woman stopped once spotting Rin.

"Hey Rin," she greeted.

"Hello Sango," Rin answered, "Do you have practice today?"

"Ah, no," Sango shook her head, "I have classes."

Catching the difference from Sango's usual term, Rin commented carefully, "What happened? I thought you only had one class."

"I did, but the other instructor got himself kicked in the ass," Sango laughed, "He's hit the sack with a nasty flu."

Rin paused, remembering that the instructor didn't have anyone. "Who's taking care of him then?"

With an exasperated sigh, Sango replied, "Kagome."

Rin almost burst out laughing, but she managed to hold it in. "Are they going to get together," she asked, "Kouga's been after Kagome for a while."

Sango shook her head. "Kouga isn't serious and he isn't Kagome's type."

Rin nodded. As she was about to turn, she caught sight of a young man heading their way. He was around six years older than her and dressed in shorts, a shirt, and sneakers. There were only two colors on him, white and dark blue. Like Sango, he also tied back his hair, but it wasn't nearly as long. In the crook of one arm, he was holding a black purse. On his calves and wrists, he had some bandages for reasons Rin didn't know. As he approached them, he said, "Sister, here's your purse. Hi Rin."

"Hello Kohaku," she replied, "Will you be helping your sister today?"

"Yes."

Without another word, the three walked in together.

Rin parted from the two at the elevator. Sango and Kohaku were going to take the stairs to the second floor, whereas Rin didn't feel like going up flights of stairs to reach the fourth floor.

The building had five floors in total. It was a strangely shaped building, in which the architecture was an arrangement of shapes, not conforming to any particular shape as a way to accommodate all features of the building's interior. The first floor was mainly for display, accommodating a personal shop, a performance hall, galleries, and conference rooms. Towards the back was an area for eating and entry to the adjoining restaurant, meeting the staff of the building such as artists and performers, and then it leads into the staff lounge. On the second floor were classrooms and supply closets. Then the third floor was more storage, the demonstration halls, some classrooms and conference rooms.

As for the fourth and fifth floor, it was all studios meant for personal use by performers, artists, and writers. For convenience, there were even locker rooms at the end of every hall with showers and beds, allowing staff to stay for days without having to go home; they could go out and simply take up one of the beds, use the showers in the morning, and get fresh clothes from the sets they can keep in the lockers. Of course, they had to pay a monthly fee, but it much less than if they stayed in apartments. Then for studios, performers usually shared a compartment with up to six or eight at a time. Artists were only allowed up to three persons in a maximum of three compartment studios. Writers often had four persons in a compartment, rarely allowed two compartments. Those who had multiple talents were more likely to be assigned with others of their most preferred talent or could possess their own studio, rarely allowed more than one compartment, unless given certain circumstances.

Rin fell under those given circumstances and had a three compartment studio, all for her personal and private use. An artist, a writer, a performer, and nothing preferred over the rest. When Rin's mother appealed for entry as a staff member, the director and coordinators were exceedingly hesitant to even give her a chance. However, by her mother's request, Rin created a sculpture, a painting, wrote a story, wrote and sang a song for the three. Within a few days, Rin had her own studio, three compartments, a three year contract, and unlimited access to the supply closets. They gave her keys to the closets like they did for the other staff members, the key to her studio, a locker, and an ID card. After a while, they even had to give her keys to the building so that she could go in and out whenever she desired, anytime of the day. Most of Rin's inspiration came during the evening and in the middle of the night. If she had to wait until the next morning, there'd be nothing to remain. She had to start work immediately on the inspiration or else, it would be another piece gone to waste...

The moment Rin was in her studio, she scurried to a closet and dragged out a slab of fresh clay.

Laying out her tools for later, she started her work immediately. As her hands grabbed, pulled, and shaped the clay, his image was burned into her mind. Like the possessed, she couldn't stop moving, following the stranger whose image devoured her mind, giving life to what had been forgotten and what had remained in slumber, waiting, patiently holding his silence in her memory. Now she could hear him. He had his voice and he was telling her to call him, bring him to life. No longer keep him a hidden piece of diamond and gold among her treasures. Let him rock the earth. Let him crush the flames of hell. Let him stun the heavens.

She saw the muscles seen after white Armani was pulled away, the long locks of silver hair that flitted like strands chipped away from the moon, the chiseled lines of his features, and most of all, the molting gold irises set in a face of stone. Hours passed, but she didn't see them go by. She made out his head and the gentle fall of his long moon-like hair, formed the outline of the sheets that fell from his bare figure, molded the tone of his firm muscles and abs. With impenetrable concentration, she imagined the very contours of his body, the constriction of his muscles in his tense and noble posture. Even from the depths of her memory, she gave him weakness, his vulnerability when injured, but just as she had discovered, he retained his pride and his willingness to fight. No matter how he suffered a dislocated arm, cuts through his abdomen and a large rift through his left arm, he remained strong and defiant.

Carefully, she caressed and crafted the tense hand with claws held before his face. The moon flashed in her mind, waters of the ocean shifted and she slid to the base, adding and taking, sculpting the crashing of waves and waters that rose to wrap around him as his sheet had failed to have done.

He became defiant, but there was no expression upon his face.

She backed away, looking at how she had formed his clawed hand before his face. Then in her mind flashed an expression on his face she'd never seen before, one she'd never imagine for him to have. It was sadness, a bitter despair that cursed and broke him down. From the depths of his heat and his soul, in a heart that hid itself in the confines of chains and memories, she captured the sadness that wasn't quite sadness, the hatred that wasn't quite hatred. Suppression, depression, hatred and rage, even loneliness and the strange calm that manifested in the empty, repressed state, she curved his jaw, the tight line of his lips, an expression of stone that didn't match the striking intensity she carved out, his eyes appearing with the flurry of emotions and intensity she saw.

He couldn't escape anymore.

She had captured him, captured the heart and the cage and the pictures flitting inside, and brought it out for all to see. With her heart, she had taken his, snatching it in a grip so loose he could slip away, yet so strong he became a part of her being, a part of her existence. No matter if the sculpture was her only medium, she had him. She had him.


	4. Completion

Chapter 4: Completion

She worked well into the night and unto the next morning. The passing of day into night and into the sunrise had gone unnoticed completely. No matter that she had an outer studio, therefore having a line of windows go through the three compartments, set in a linear format against one of the two ends of the floor, she was unaware. Carving every crease, noting every strand, caught in the action after he killed, allowing the fight inside him to rage after the fight he had won. Painting the waters and the sheet, his hair and his skin, she felt every cold shiver as she drew closer and closer to his completion. Coloring the glow of his claws and finding a way to create the heavenly light of the moon so that he shined in any light, two more details, there were only two more details left. He needed blood and he needed the fire.

Without thinking on it, Rin snatched a light duty knife, pushing up the recently sharpened blade. Hastily, she rested her hand on a close by stool. She raised the blade. Firm in her hand, but right as she was about to bring it down, the trance was broken. An irate ring sounded through the room. Instead of feeling angered, Rin fell to her knees, disappointed and frustrated that she couldn't finish. Inches away, a mere step or two away, he was ordering his completion, holding her lithe frame in his powerful arms, a hand grasping her throat as he suffocated her, demanding she finish him. He was enraged. His trance may have been broken, but he was there. As she had captured his heart, he engulfed her mind, possessed her through and through. Every fiber of her being belonged to him. Every pump of her heart and inhale to her lungs was meant for him now, ensnaring her in his irresistibly defiant clutches.

But she promised to return, to finish what she had started. Her hand tightened on the knife as she strutted out of the room, a dangerous serenity surrounding the sway of her hips and confidence in her steps. The phone continued to ring off the hook. Picking up the cordless phone, she answered smoothly, "Yes?"

"Rin," cried a familiar man. Instantly, she recognized them to be the coordinator. With a smile on her lips, she answered, "Hello coordinator, may ask what has you so frantic?"

"Rin," the coordinator called again, "Do you have any new pieces yet?"

Hearing his question, something in Rin sparked. The stranger's hold on her tightened, and his hot breath warmed her chilling skin. Cold sweat began to bead her brow. His call was powerful. She needed to complete him. She needed to make him eternal. And what better way was there than for the world to know him? Fallen under his trance yet again, she answered monotonously, "Yes…It is almost finished."

"What is it," the man babbled.

"A sculpture…"

The stranger's call wasn't strong, neither was his presence, but she needed him. Reality was home in Japan, out of her reach. If she wanted him, she had to create him. Even though it wasn't enough, even though the love was forgotten and torn away into a box locked deep in her chest, it was enough. To make the stranger eternal, to create his likeness and know that in its creation she had acquired victory. She had captured his heart. That alone was enough and he would be known. He would be seen. It was this call that was so strong. It was this dream, this wish, this longing that pulled her and shook her to her core.

So as the presence surrounding her drew her back, the longing, the desire brimming inside her gave him power and she yearned to release herself. In the course of a night, she had turned him into a burden. That was the last thing she wanted. He wasn't meant to tie her down. His image wasn't full of this pressure or this entrapment of her soul. She wanted to love him freely and free him of the confines she had so placed on his memory. Through his completion, through his image of eternity, he would no longer be forgotten or trapped. He'd be free as she was meant to be, as she is.

"A sculpture," the coordinator repeated. His voice snapped her out of her obsessive thoughts. Grateful and then suspicious, she retorted, "Yes. Why?"

His answer had her falling to her knees in shock. "Mr. Inutaisho of the Taisho corporations, benefactor and owner of this center, has come with his sons to personally look over the center's progress! And I want to show them one of your works!"

In the midst of her shock, Rin managed to digest his words and found them precarious. "Why do you want a new piece," she asked, "Show them my work in the galleries."

"I will," said the coordinator, "but I want to show them a work no one has seen before."

"But-."

"Sango informed me that you had stayed here all day and night, working on your newest project."

"Yes," she confirmed.

"You haven't even eaten," the coordinator stated.

Suddenly aware, Rin felt the grumble of her stomach and couldn't deny it. "Yes," she confirmed.

"Whatever the work," the coordinator concluded, "it must be one of your finest." And the line was cut. He had hung up on her. Feeling the weight of his words sink in, Rin fell backwards. The phone clanked on the ground, the light duty knife with it, and her legs were bending at an angle that should've been painful. However, Rin was too stressed to realize. She sighed. "Pull it together, Rin," she murmured, "just work."

Her stomach protested. In her head, Rin debated going to shower and eat or finish the work now. As much as her body argued against her, Rin stood, picking up the knife, and dashed back to the sculpture. The trance had dissipated. Now she stood, staring at the stranger in his unfinished glory. She knew what to do and there was no hesitance. In instants, she had the blade pierced through her right hand, the hand she came to depend on less in her work. The left is for creation, imagination and the right is for conformity, practicality.

She gave no cry or shout or sobs, but only tears.

She pulled out the blade and punched her bleeding hand through the air. Droplets of blood splattered across the stranger, mainly his face, and the red trails formed. Three more times, she squeezed her hand and flung it through the air, droplets flying off to land and trail on the stranger's body. Then dropping the knife, she searched for a brush with small fine bristles. As soon as she had it, she squeezed her hand for the fifth and sixth time, feeling the searing pain, watching her hand become pale as the red substance dripped over the waters rising to ensnare and the sheets that fell away. With precision, she painted the trails of blood as if streams of blood fell and the sheet, the waters waded through, colored as they drifted by.

Rin hurriedly tossed away the brush, aiming at a table as she dashed to acquire another and paints. She took a color palette in her injured right hand, continuously ignoring that pain flaring through her hand, and grabbed a brush with thinner and finer bristles than the previous. At once, she began to color his eyes with their fire, their pain, bearing the weight of lives and millenniums. The fire of gold, amber, of orange and yellow in a tumultuous snare of his heart's existence, everything was in his eyes. His completion was dependent on his eyes. She put all of her heart into the complex working of those molting golden irises.

And all of a sudden, he was complete. The stranger was alive before her. She dropped the brush, dropped the palette, and marveled at him. In pure shock, she realized, "I just finished my greatest work."

"Ow!" Remembering the throbbing pain in her hand, she glanced over it and realized something else, "I need stitches." Figuring she could handle the pain for a while, Rin positioned her masterpiece to the side to be safe and walked off, acting as if she wasn't losing too much blood and her hand wasn't bleeding like pinches on Saint Patrick's Day when someone didn't wear green.

In the shower, she bit a towel to hold in her sobs, so she could clench her teeth as she cried over the pain. She searched for bandages, cotton, and alcohol. Again, she bit a towel as she dressed her hand for the period that would occur between dressing herself and entering the emergency room at the hospital. Out of her locker, she was grateful to find she hadn't used the shirt with the sleeves that extend past her fingertips. She donned the gray shirt, a black vest over it, a gray and black plaid skirt over black leggings lined with lace, and thin socks to fit in her short black boots. As an extra measure, she put on some black gloves to hide. Grabbing her purse from the studio and deciding to tie a few strands into a ponytail on the side of her head, she was ready to go.

That is until she remembered she was hungry. Reluctantly, exiting the elevator, she turned left and not right towards the entrance. Her stomach wouldn't stop growling. If she didn't eat now, who knew when she could eat again. However, as she was approaching the entrance to the restaurant, a certain figure suddenly caught her attention and she hurriedly turned around. "Oh no," she screamed inside.

"Rin!" It was one of the coordinators. She was screwed. Forcing a smile, Rin faced the coordinator and greeted him, "Hello Coordinator Harrison."

"It's good to see you," he said, coming up beside her, pushing her towards the restaurant, "Come. I'd like you to meet someone." Right then, by a stroke of luck, Rin's cell began to ring. Hastily, she answered. The caller was her mother. Hinting that she had done something stupid again, Rin hurried through the conversation and said goodbye. As the coordinator was about to resume trying to get her to meet with the Taisho trio, Rin stopped him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Harrison."

The coordinator immediately tried to compromise. "Whatever it is, I'm-."

"Sir," Rin cut in, "I have to go to the hospital. My mother said it was urgent."

The coordinator seemed concerned, but also distressed. "Can't it wait-?"

"No, sir," Rin pleaded, "please. I'll meet them when I come back."

"They're only here a day," the coordinator stressed.

"Okay," Rin replied hastily, "I'll try to get back as soon as possible, but I really have to go." She rushed off, waving goodbye and hurrying out of the building. As the morning chill struck her in the face, her stomach grumbled in desperation and she slapped her forehead. "I forgot to get some food."

While running all the way to the hospital, Rin cried quietly about her neglected stomach.

"This could count as a diet," she whined for the world to hear.


	5. Obsession

Chapter 5: Obsession

Rin was out of the hospital sooner than she expected. Then again, she happened to be a regular in the emergency room, so processing her was quick. A few stitches, a lecture from the doctor, mother's distraction, and she was out of there. She ran back to the center, but the moment she was inside, she froze. At the entrance of one of the galleries stood the subject of her sculpture, poised and apathetic as she remembered him, gazing at people beyond her sight as if he were waiting and from the look in his eyes, he was becoming impatient.

He was practically the same, except his hair was tied back in a low ponytail, the fur was gone, and instead, he wore a full black Armani suit with a white shirt inside. In a casual manner, the front of the suit was left wide open. For a brief moment, Rin chuckled slightly, wondering if that was his idea of casual. She continued to gaze at him, mesmerized by the appearance time couldn't touch. "Well, duh," she chastised herself, "He's a demon. Of course, he wouldn't age."

"Rin!" Instinctively, she pivoted, finding Sango and another woman walking towards her, the other coordinator. The second woman also had black hair and brown eyes. Sango had the fuller figure, but the other woman had a more proportionate figure. Recognizing her, Rin waved and greeted, "Hello Kagome." All of a sudden, Rin was wrapped in Kagome's arms, hearing the woman say, "Oh, I'm so glad to see you!"

"I am too," Rin stated, "The last time I saw you was Tuesday."

Kagome pulled away, smiling at her and then at Sango. The three laughed about the obscenity of it. Teasing, Sango questioned, "Well, think you're still good with a bow and arrow, Coordinator Higurashi."

"How dare you," Kagome teased.

"Quiet," Rin waved her hands, "this is the first floor, remember?"

"Sorry," the two older women smiled. Rin pouted. Out of the corner of her eye, Rin instantaneously caught sight of the other coordinator, aside from Kagome, and hastily pleaded with her two best friends, "Please hide me! It's Coordinator Harrison."

However, it was futile as Rin and her friends saw the director appear, following the coordinator. Kagome and Sango whispered their apologies, giving her sweet little advice before walking away. It was sweet, deliciously sweet advice and Rin thought that trying it wouldn't be too bad. Then Rin questioned why Kagome was sneaking away too. The older woman answered, "Um, I'm in a little trouble for skipping yesterday. If the director finds out I was taking care of Kouga, she'll flip."

"Rin," called the director, "We will be introducing you to the owner of this center. Come along. Harrison, you are excused."

The coordinator walked by Rin, whispering to her, "You'll be okay." He gave her a quick pat on the shoulder and then gently pushed her to follow the woman they called director. Rin caught up to the director's side, lowering her head.

The director looked much like Kagome, but older with longer hair and a leaner frame. Many people mistook them for twins. In truth, they were older and younger sisters. Rin couldn't mistake them. Kikyo was colder, more detached and calm. Kagome was warm, accepting and open about her feelings. Surprisingly, despite the image of distance between them, they were close friends with each other. Only in public, they kept their personal life a secret. The only fact people needed to know could already be guessed, so there was no point indicating anymore.

Feeling uneasy and somewhat terrified, Rin inched closer towards Kikyo and asked, "What are they like?" Kikyo's dark eyes glanced towards her before softening. "Worry not," she said, "Be yourself and you will be fine."

Rin nodded, not quite sure but willing to place her faith in the director. At the moment, they waited by the entrance of one of the galleries. Most of Rin's works were featured in this gallery as she was assigned. Lots of people walked around, openly admiring and commenting on her work, and Rin listened, eager to hear some feedback. She didn't mind criticism. Truthfully, she felt criticism was better than compliments, which were better than insults. Criticism helped her improve, she believed.

Gazing around, Rin tried to determine who the Taisho trio were, but the gallery was immense and people were scattered everywhere. She didn't have a clue what they looked like. Perhaps I should've taken a quick glance earlier, she mused disappointed. Figuring there was no point dwelling on it, Rin straightened and waited patiently for the important visitors.

"Rin," the director addressed her. Glancing at the older woman, Rin nodded. "Have you finished your newest piece," the director asked. Smiling at the thought, Rin nodded her head eagerly. "Yes," she confirmed vocally. The director smiled gently at Rin's simple joy. Everyone said she had a soft spot for Rin. They couldn't be any more right.

"Go up," the director stated, "I will escort them to your studio. Be prepared." Relieved to get away, Rin bowed slightly, turned heel and sprinted to the elevator. The thought of taking Kagome and Sango's advice passed through her head, but when faced with the director, Rin couldn't help complying. She respected the director and willingly complied with the director's commands as did practically everyone else who worked at the center. If anyone was less inclined to comply with the director's calm and gentle demeanor, it would have to be Kagome, perhaps the only staff member immune to the woman's charming way of direction.

In her studio, Rin cleaned up her clutter in the first compartment. Careful, even though the caution wasn't exactly needed, she rolled her newest sculpture to the first compartment. The director always entered from the door of the first compartment. Having a feeling stir in her gut, Rin prepared to stand by the doorway to the second compartment, therefore if the need arose, she could escape without a chance of being stopped…then she remembered, "The Taisho family are demons."

Rin cursed and cursed at herself, barely paying attention to the knock at the door. Absentmindedly, she cried "enter!" Yet she continued to curse herself, only giving a slight glance at the visitors, until she realized exactly who entered her studio. Meeting three pairs of golden stares, Rin felt the blood rush to her head. If anything, it was time to pass out. And she did.

- - - - - - - -

Rin came to, feeling that she was lying on top of something brown and hard, covered in splotches of color. Glancing down, she rolled her eyes. She was on the table. A throbbing started in her head as she lifted it. Prolonged, a groan escaped her lips as she gently rubbed the spot.

"It seems she has awakened."

Rin screamed. She turned around. She backed away. She fell off, landing on her rear and then her back. Lying still, she groaned in pain. For a few moments, she discerned whispers around her. At last, she pulled herself up, none too gracefully. A hand was offered to her. Only a glance and she took their hand, but as they pulled her up, her fingers brushed against something sharp. Alarmed, she gazed down, discovering her lithe hand held in the grasp of a broader, distinctly male hand with claws. Her gaze shot up. She was too shocked to scream. The screams were caught in her throat, trapped with any words she could have said in that moment. Slowly, the reality sank in. Her eyes searched for her sculpture, which was where she had left it.

The sculpture, the man, the sculpture, the man, their hands, she couldn't figure what to freak out about. Her inspiration was here. He was holding her hand. It's obvious he's seen that the sculpture is modeled after him. He's still holding her hand. The man is a demon, so he could probably smell her blood and she needed an excuse for that. He hasn't let go of her hand. For her momentary obsession, she discovers he is a Taisho and his father owns this center. He wasn't letting go of her hand. Sculpture, man, sculpture, man, it all really came back to their hands, which still had yet to be separated.

She shook her head. As she did, she finally became aware that someone was talking to her. Caught off guard, she gazed around disoriented. She needed to scream. She was going to scream. Snatching her hand from the man's grasp, she rushed past him, running to the third compartment, where she flung herself at a pile of cushions. She took one in her hands and let out the most piercing scream she could muster again and again and again.

After the tenth time, she believed she was okay. However, as she stood, she collapsed. She fisted a pillow. She screamed again and again and again. Her thoughts were going a mile a minute and focusing on the act of screaming stopped it. Problem was if she stopped screaming, the torrent of thoughts would surge once again and she'd be caught in the dilemma. Finally, it did end and she slumped into the cushions, exhausted. "I have to go," she mumbled wearily, "They're probably waiting for me."

"We are," an unfamiliar voice stated. Slowly lifting her head, Rin watched with a lazy stare as the Taisho trio and Kikyo entered the third compartment of her studio, making themselves comfortable. With the haze from exhaustion, Rin could scarcely comprehend why they were there, let alone who they were. The director approached Rin carefully, extremely cautious towards Rin in her dazed state. Giving a little distance, the director also sat amidst the cushions, gazing down at the disheveled Rin.

"Rin," the woman addressed her. All Rin could manage was a "Huh."

"Your newest sculpture has to be one of your best yet." Those words sparked inside Rin. As if brought to life, Rin shot up, smiling brightly as she took hold of Kikyo's hands, forgetting anyone else was there.

"Isn't it," she said blissfully, "I just knew it." Rin failed to notice the quirked brows of two of the Taisho trio.

"The build, the perfection, the expression, the strength, I captured it." Rin missed the teasing stares and directed glances.

"I definitely captured it!" She clasped her hands together, reveling in the glory of her vision, unaware of smiles and stares. Suddenly, she leaned towards Kikyo, excited like an innocent child. "He seems alive, doesn't he? It was incredible, every contour of his muscles, the tension in his stance, the intensity of his eyes, the flow of his hair, his-."

Her eyes widened in realization, gazing at a distant vision. Horror splayed across her face as she bolted through her compartments, paying no heed to the four figures that followed behind her. The stranger, the sculpture, her masterpiece was the only thing on her mind.

Right in front of the sculpture, she fell to her knees. There, he was incomplete. She thought she had completed him, but no, she hadn't.

"Rin," someone called, "What's-?"

She cried out, cradling her head. "He's incomplete! He's incomplete! He's incomplete," she screamed. Falling forward, hiding her face, she sobbed in her childish tantrum. Sparingly, she could hear the whispers from behind her.

"Is she always like this?"

"No," the director answered, the shock clear in her voice, "She has never acted like this before. Not once."

"What has her worked up this much?"

"It seems," the director paused, "the subject is incomplete."

In that moment, Rin snapped. "Incomplete," she cried, "Oh god, he can't be incomplete!" Rin hurriedly stood and dove towards the second compartment of her studio. There, she threw open a closet, pulling out a slab of clay and prepared for her work. For some reason, the director was trying to stop her. She fought back, pulling out of her grasp and moving frantically around. As Kikyo took a tight grip on her, she tightened her right hand into a whitening fist out of instinct. Kikyo pestered her. The voice was measured, but the words tumbled frantically. Enraged, Rin released the fist, slapping Kikyo across the cheek. The slap resounded in the room. Rin froze, not because of the return of her sanity, but because of the blood smeared across Kikyo's bruising cheek. If it wasn't enough that her stitches had been reopened, she had also slapped Kikyo, the director, a friend, her best friend's older sister, and to make it worse, "he" had seen her insanity, a madness that she had never once felt before.

Feeling all of it seep away, Rin felt so ashamed and guilty, she fell to her knees, tears streaking down her face. Kikyo kneeled down, taking her into a loving embrace. "I'm so sorry," Rin muttered, holding Kikyo, crying into her shoulder, "I don't know what came over me. I'm so sorry."

"You are forgiven," Kikyo whispered, "Just forgive yourself first."

"Please…"


	6. Reality

Chapter 6: Reality

Much to Rin's surprise, the outburst was a dream. She had been so flustered when the Taisho trio entered that she fainted. However, that's not how she had awakened and she hadn't gone insane. Most likely, hours later, she awakened for real to find she was lying amongst the pillows. The director sat beside her. She turned and the visitors were sitting on a bench as they had in her dream. Her gaze centered on the subject of her sculpture and her whole hallucination. Still caught in the dream's insanity, she felt disoriented and didn't know what to say. The first thing out of her mouth became "I'm not dreaming…"

"You are not dreaming," the director confirmed.

Continuing to stare at them, Rin commented, "Hello." She had no clue how to react. After such an experience, after coming face to face with the subject, she didn't know what to do. Her brows creased as her thoughts took a sharp detour. It was then that she comprehended, "I don't know their names." Finally tearing her gaze away from the subject, she looked at similar figures. An older man seemed to be father of the other two. His hair wasn't as long as the older son, neither did he have a crescent moon on his forehead nor were his streaks defined and two, it was only one. Looking at the last figure, something clicked in Rin's head. "Fruit guy," she cried smiling on impulse.

The man looked at her confused until it clicked in his head as well. "Runt," he smirked, "What? Are you still stealing fruit?"

Rin pouted and stuck out her tongue. "One time thing," she scoffed.

"Keh," he shook his head. "Inuyasha," he stated. She nodded. "This is my father, Inutaisho." Rin nodded and bowed as much as she could, which wasn't much. "That's my older brother, mind you half," Inuyasha growled out, "Sesshoumaru."

Staring at Sesshoumaru, Rin started moving on impulse once again. She stood, shuffling towards Sesshoumaru and without hesitation began touching his face. Stroking his skin, caressing his cheek, tracing the crescent and the streaks, she was oblivious to everyone's shocked stares, even Sesshoumaru's and she was staring straight at his face.

However, though she was gazing, she couldn't make out his expression as she was looking at feature upon feature, detail by detail. There was no way she could see the big picture. Leaning closer and closer, she was close enough that she could brush her lips against his, yet all that was on her mind was examining his face. And as soon as she was close enough, she pulled back and walked towards the first compartment.

They followed behind her, watching as she stopped directly in front of her sculpture and did the exact same thing. Stroking the skin, caressing the cheek, tracing the crescent and streaks, even leaning in close enough to brush lips against the cold stone, she barely noticed when the claws of her sculpture brushed her cheek to her ear. When she pulled back, she sat down, continuing to stare in silence. A thought echoed through her mind, "How foolish. Of course, a lifeless creation can't compare to a living creature." A tear streamed down her cheek. Hurriedly, she wiped it away, gazing at the face sadly. "How foolish," she mused pitifully, "I can never have him…"

Rin had sat staring at her sculpture for what seemed like hours. Though it wasn't, it was enough for everyone, even the demons to question what she was thinking. And after sitting for so long, Rin stood, stretched and then glanced at them as she asked happily, "So will you be staying or going?"

"What will you be doing," asked the director. Rin smiled teasingly as she answered, "Another sculpture…or practicing a song, whichever I feel like." She shrugged. Before any of them could answer, Rin strode into the second compartment, taking out supplies, such as her sculpting tools and a small slab of clay that she carried onto a table in the third compartment. To her surprise, Inuyasha helped her. Inutaisho and Sesshoumaru sat down on the bench, waiting to see what Rin would do. The director on the other hand bid farewell and left the studio.

When Inuyasha sat down on the bench, Rin couldn't help tilting her head and smiling at the three identical men. She glanced at the pile of cushions. "You know," she drawled, "you could sit over there. It's more comfortable and I'm not sure how long you'll be here." Sesshoumaru was the first to move, finding a place closest to the wall and then leaning back with one leg propped up to support an arm. Inuyasha and Inutaisho shortly joined after, sitting closer to have a better look at what Rin would be doing.

Continuously glancing at the three, Rin felt herself begin to giggle and stifled it one after the other. She was accustomed to people sitting in as she did her work, but usually they were kids and their parents, aspiring artists and such. Not once had she ever worked in front of three silver-haired men dressed in expensive Armani suits with expressions that not many people would be happy to approach. Inutaisho was solemn, but he had the most softness in his expression, the softness of a true father, strict and loving. Inuyasha seemed to be brooding, pissed and upset about something, yet what it was she couldn't discern, almost like a child. Lastly, Sesshoumaru had a look of indifference, though with a prolonged glance, Rin could see the intensity that was always there, the chill that froze anyone's blood and cracked through anyone's skull. She almost laughed, wondering why Sesshoumaru was the one to attract her. However, she knew that answer and left it to itself.

Facing the slab of clay, Rin gradually began to take and add, mold and shift. Her graceful hands seemed to be massaging the clay, yet something was forming, something was taking shape. There was no image in her mind, but there was life in her hands, so she followed, seeing what would come of following her instinct. Arms reached to the sky, a head tilted to see the blue heavens, flowing hair that tossed and curled as it moved to envelop what came out as a thin and wispy figure, and the sheets that covered the young woman's figure wrapped around her arms and waist, fluttered around her chest, and danced and entangled with her legs that were already off the ground. Keeping her hands moving, a branch formed under the woman's floating feet. Her sheets trailed down and curled around the branch, but didn't encase it. From the branch, the top of a tree formed, branches shooting out in all directions, coming up to create a canopy. Amongst the leaves, the young woman was liberating herself, emerging from the veil the tree had formed over her.

Rin glanced at the three. In front of her were the shapes of what her mind had envisioned, but it wasn't complete enough for her spectators to truly discern the finished work.

Smiling, she began to engrave every detail. Each and every strand of her soft hair, the curl of her delicate fingers, the folds and creases of the sheets, the contours where the sheets hugged the woman's figure, the eyes and nose and lips, the lines and clear spots of the tree's trunk, and even the shapes and lines of every single maple leaf. Her precision was stunning and as she shifted, engraved, and smoothed, the work started to breath. The young woman seemed as if she could fly off or drift into the heavens, yet she could only admire. The sheets seemed as if they could be blown away, yet held tightly. The tree seemed to shutter in the wind, yet was safe from harm.

And it did come to life. Without color, it was living and breathing and moving before their eyes. Inuyasha and Inutaisho praised her for the skill she displayed. As they stood for a closer look, Rin turned towards a nearby clock, reading close to midnight. Facing the two, she commented, "It's late. Maybe you should be heading home." The two spared a glance at their watches and nodded. Sesshoumaru stood then, breezing past them all and only stopped at the door to look back at the other three. Inuyasha and Inutaisho followed close behind. However, the two walked past Sesshoumaru, expecting that he would've resumed walking. Instead, Sesshoumaru was still waiting, his gaze fixated on Rin. She waved, not sure how to respond.

"You are not leaving," he stated. Immediately, Rin shook her head and said, "I'm going to finish my sculpture."

"Don't push yourself," Inutaisho commented, a tone of concern in his voice that didn't go unnoticed. Unable to help smiling at them, Rin waved her hands, saying, "It's okay. I really want to finish. Plus I have no school for the next week, so I'm fine." Inuyasha shrugged and walked off, calling out, "Don't die of exhaustion and don't be a workaholic like Sesshoumaru! You'll turn to stone!" Rin laughed, calling back, "I won't. Have a good night, Inuyasha."

"We will visit tomorrow," Inutaisho stated. Rin nodded, "I'll be waiting then."

Inutaisho turned to walk away, but noticed that Sesshoumaru wasn't following. As he was about to address his son, Sesshoumaru reentered the third compartment and sat down amidst the cushions. "Good night," Sesshoumaru stated coldly. Unfazed but taking a hint, Inutaisho said goodbye to Rin and left after Inuyasha. Rin hopped back to the table, feeling Sesshoumaru's hard gaze observe her every move. She was frightened and excited enough to think he was perhaps observing her too closely, every muscle, the details of the expression on her face, the curves of her thin figure. That was a dream though.

And right as she sat down, the first thing she blurted out was, "Are you married?"

"No" came the stern reply.

"Got a girlfriend," she kept going and had no idea where the questions were popping up.

"No," he said again.

"What about a lover?" She couldn't stop.

There was no response. Confronted with silence, Rin lifted her gaze only to find he was gone. She searched around, but stopped, feeling him press against her back. His hands slid down her arms. In a husky subdued growl, he replied, "No." One of his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back against him, full against him, able to feel the very lines of his form through the barriers of his clothing, which she found were just as easily penetrated through as her shirt.

"Uh, Sesshoumaru," she murmured.

He growled against her ear. "You don't remember," he uttered in an airy breath.

Remember what, she inwardly screamed. His body was too close and something was pressed into her back, a bulge in his pants that made her mind spin at the implications. One of his hands glided down her side, dipping lower and lower until the tips of his claws found the entrance to her womb, fortunately protected from the heat of his hand. "You don't remember," he whispered, "how I touched you," he rubbed circles over her clothed sex, "how I held you," he straightened her against him, reaching up with his other hand to knead her breasts, "how I claimed you as mine."

Pleasure surged through her, heat pooled in the depths of her belly. With a moan, she threw back her head, subconsciously bucking against his prodding hand. "Your body remembers me," he stated, a husky rasp on the edges of a growl, "Now you should." But as he dipped his head to capture her lips, he was met instead with her cheek. She was shaking in his grasp, yet was struggling to muster enough energy to deny him. His fingers became rougher, rubbing, prodding, and pinching, sending waves upon waves of pleasure cascading through her system. In his chest, he rumbled with a growl, angered and aroused by her sudden defiance. At least, for him, it was sudden. For her, it felt instinctive to deny him.

Seizing her in one rough jerk, he ground out, "You are mine, Rin, and you will remember me."

At last, something snapped inside her and Rin tore out of his grasp, crashing to the floor as she tried to avoid hitting the table. Panting, sweating, the heat knotted inside her, wanting release, but she had broken away moments before completion.

Sesshoumaru straightened, taking a single step and towered over her, gazing down with his dark golden eyes. In them though, Rin saw the makings of red edging his retinas. "I don't know what you're talking about," Rin panted, her voice was too airy. She swallowed, "but I don't remember you or any of this. And I don't belong to you!"

Suddenly, he was down on her. There was the crash as her stool smashed against the wall, wood falling to pieces and thumping on the tables and clacking on the floor. Her legs were spread apart. Despite the clothing, he was pressed against her, his sex to hers. Her body screamed for release, delighting in the new contact, begging to orgasm against him. Shallow pants brushed along the top of her head. His forearms rested on the floor on either side of her, trapping her as if she were in some kind of cage. An instantaneous thought struck, "Loving him feels like a cage."

She didn't want to admit it, but it was buried deep in her subconscious. Even if she couldn't remember and didn't know, her body did and she could feel memories stirring in her. The emotions she felt when torn from his completion, they were remnants of him. How his body and embrace seemed so real against her, it was the call of her memories. And they started streaming, but before she could register them, she dispelled them. She wouldn't delve into it. Something inside her was breaking, screaming at her "Don't open the chest!"

"Sesshoumaru," she called meekly. Tears streamed from her eyes. "Sesshoumaru," and he was no longer holding her down. He was sitting up, cradling her in his lap, his head buried in her shoulder. "Sesshoumaru," she kept calling, holding onto him tighter. She felt scared, weary. The chest, her memories, the emotions, something in them would destroy her. Something told her they risked her sanity. Times of demons and samurai, the feudal era where war and death were rampant over Japan, to a time she had forgotten and lost, it was a time she saw the memories lied. Whatever happened then, she didn't want to face again. All she wanted was her Sesshoumaru. He's all she wanted.


	7. Center

Chapter 7: Center

Despite Rin's rejection, Sesshoumaru persisted. He allowed her to continue her work, but tormented her the entire time, rubbing her clothed sex to orgasm after orgasm. Breathing in her scent, nuzzling her neck, kneading and feeling and massaging her slight figure, and every once in a while, turning her around to lift her chin and place feathery light kisses on her lips. She had to stop him, always feeling the passion grow and the fire flare to life. When he pressed against her, his head on her shoulder, she couldn't and didn't want to struggle. Upon her sculpture's completion, there was nothing to distract her from him anymore. Defeated, she gave in.

It was a big mistake.

Drawn into another mind-shattering orgasm, she didn't notice as he picked her up and carried her to the cushions. Claws rid her of her vest, shirt, and skirt. His fiery touch scoured her slender shoulders to her breasts, kneading as lips pressed light against her own. Feeling his sex press against hers once more, she moaned a shaky gasp. His tongue dove into her mouth, exploring. And she didn't find it strange, adjusting the moment they started their little dance of tongues as she wrapped her arms about his shoulders, hands grasping at strands of silver, tightening, begging for more. Suddenly, he was rubbing against her in long steady strokes, his sex and her sex unable to touch each other, but taking and taking the heat and pleasure.

She threw back her head, beading with sweat and gasping, panting for release. Sliding together, pressing and rubbing against each other, the sound of his growl, deep and vicious, made her sex pulse in want, throbbing for sweet invasion. "Sesshoumaru," she moaned, and his strokes became harder out of desperation. Moving with him, encasing his waist in her legs, she whispered, "More…" The rumbling of his chest above her wetted her, made her body shiver and plead for more. She couldn't stand it!

"Sesshoumaru," she whined.

In an instant, he moved her to the cold floor, only her head supported by the cushions. She shivered, exposed to the cold night air and the concrete against her back, but clutched to his bare warmth, his heat ensnaring her all over. Soon, he would be inside her, she knew, and her body pleaded for him to hurry, stop the agony. His bare member was hard like stone, still stroking her entrance, teasing her.

"Sesshoumaru," she pleaded, pushing forth her chest, her breast brushing against his hardened pectorals. He smirked above her, not that she could see, so taken in bliss.

"Do you see," he whispered, "You belong to me. Every inch of your body," he kissed her jaw, "every moan," he pressed his member harder and she moaned wantonly with a shutter, "every hope and desire," he stilled, proving his point as she trembled in need of more, "You belong to me…"

Two claws suddenly plunged inside her as he pulled his pelvis away. Within instants, she was moving on the fingers. He didn't have to thrust his fingers in and out, only scissor gently as she did all the work for him. Then adding a third finger, letting her go on. As something ripped from his claws, his eyes widened down at the withering desperate girl beneath him. Didn't she feel the pain? An orgasm seized her, his name on the tremble of her lips. He waited, but she knew.

"I can take pain," she whispered softly, "The breaking of my virginity is nothing." She paused, hesitantly pulling up her right hand and before his eyes, removing the glove to show him what she had done to herself. His eyes didn't widen. For hours, he had smelled the injury, but with a look at it now, it was worse than he had expected.

Meekly mustering a smile, she explained, "Red paint wouldn't have justified you, so…," she turned her gaze away, "I used my blood."

He leaned forward, "I agree," he murmured, "Only your blood," and in the course of a single moment, he took away his fingers, he thrust in his member, he grasped her hair and turned her head to the side, and his fangs buried in her pulse as he pumped in and out, a strong pace, slow but sharp with each thrust. "Sesshoumaru," she gasped.

He lapped at the mark on her shoulder, ignoring her plea. Ignored the desperate buck of her hips, ignored the shuttering pleas in airy breaths, ignored the grasping hands clawing at his back, but not for long as he paused, tormenting his lustful charge in her call for release. She continued moving, tightening around his member. Her lashes fluttered to reveal misted brown irises, at which, he smirked knowingly, switching positions so that she found herself on top of him. Brushing his lips against her cheek, her lashes, and her brow, he whispered, "Move for me."

Instantly, she sat up, the palms of her hands pressing against his bare chest, unintentionally digging her nails as she lifted and thrust down again and again. Thrust after thrust, forcing his member deeper and deeper, she couldn't see anymore. Unable to notice when he began to respond, his claws digging into her hips, pulling down and lifting as her hands latched onto his shoulders and her elbows burrowed into his sides. Throwing back her head, covered in sweat, panting as she rode the demon to release, she heard the slap of their flesh, her own heady pants and his growls as she murmured his name. Heated lips smothered her own, a tongue dancing with and against hers, she didn't know, she only felt him and drowned in him, his heat and his desire. And he drowned in hers, swallowed and plunging into the insanity, the heat of her core, falling with her want and need.

Then her eyes shot open as together, they struck with lights exploding in her head, she gasped and trembled uncontrollably. She needed to hit that spot one more time. But with opened eyes, she caught his molting stare filled with lust, watching her, loving her. One last thrust, one last punch to the nerves of unbridled pleasure, one last glance at his ensnaring entrancing golden gaze, she was gone.

His name caught on her lips. The walls disappeared, the floor no longer held them, the confines of her body were released, it was his soul and hers, it was the flames of pleasure hotter than in the depths of hell, burned alive with ecstasy. Something still moving in her. And suddenly, something hit, shooting inside her, pooling and filling her. She became light and air, disappearing with the world that disappeared to her, bringing him with her as they drowned, intertwined, became one with each other.

As she fell upon him, her name resounded in his whisper. "Rin…"

Yet she didn't feel so complete.

- - - - - - - - - - -

How many times had they gone through it? How many more times did he fill her and make love to her? How many more times did she have him in her grasp and feel almost whole? As she gained back her senses, she questioned and questioned, yet found she didn't mind. The companion she craved was holding her in his arms.

At least, she wanted to believe it, but there were two issues, his possessive claim and the memories bottled inside, crying to her never to be released. Why didn't she want to remember? What was there, scared to be faced and distressed with the feeling of being broken?

Rin shifted out of his loose embrace and lifted herself off of him. She knew he was awake, but he was allowing her a moment. Pretending to rest, she looked a moment at his calm expression. Before she stood, she kissed him on the lips, a somewhat passionate kiss that she didn't want him to respond to. Probably catching it in her scent, he didn't.

With ease, she moved away and stalked over to the sculpture she had finished several hours ago. The woman emerged from the cover of the maple tree. Is that like me, she wondered. Circling the sculpture, she thought over how similar it seemed. Sesshoumaru, a tree of stone like the blooming maple tree of silver, red, and blue leaves, still and apathetic, unmoved, strong and defiant, holding up the young woman, her, yet she was trying to leave, to be taken by the winds.

Last night, Sesshoumaru had marked her. He claimed her; he said she belonged to him. But before all of it, he said to remember. There was something in her memory, the memories of a life before her own, a life back in the times of war and chaos in feudal Japan. This man, this demon wanted her to remember. Her memories, the life long past now, screamed at her "Don't open the chest!" At the same time, she could hear her past weeping, mourning. Was it Sesshoumaru she truly wanted? He was and wasn't like the one she dreamed of. Hundreds of times, she had always mulled over the idea of a female as if she expected her companion to be female. So then who was she waiting for? Who was her heart truly sitting still and patiently passing time in hope they would come? With it, she had a feeling there was the need in remembering to ask, What was their relation to Sesshoumaru?

Rin gazed down again at the sculpture. The woman's hands were reaching towards the sky, but the more she looked, the more Rin realized the meaning was becoming distorted. It wasn't reaching, it was catching. What was the young woman trying to catch? As the woman tried to leave, she was also trying to take hold of something. Knowing this was a part of it all, the center of all her distress and anguish, spurred from love and yearning, she had all the pieces surrounding, but the piece of the center.

"What am I trying to catch," Rin murmured, tears suddenly streaking down her cheeks, "Who am I waiting for?"


	8. Eternity

Chapter 8: Eternity

The two dressed. Sesshoumaru drove home, leaving Rin to her own devices. Whether he was insecure, angered, or curious, he didn't express it as he left. Rin watched him go, slowly walking up flights of stairs, trudging down an empty dimly lit hall, and stepped into a dark well-cleaned locker room. She flicked on the lights, moving towards her locker. With lagged movements, she pulled out a key and opened the storage compartment. Then she reached in, taking hold of a plain white shirt, a skirt, tights, and arm warmers. Metal against metal resounded as she tiredly slammed the locker closed, again trudging forth and making her way to the showers. All the while, misery began to wear down on Rin. Something inside her was stirring. There was a throbbing in her mind, a dull pulse as her mind wandered, attracted to something she could neither see nor hear, but felt was there.

As the spray of the water doused her in soaking heat, she ran her hands through her hair, trying to replicate the feel of Sesshoumaru's fingers stroking, gently massaging. Instead, something else arose. Her mind flashed. Little hands, claws were carefully combing the dark strands, playing and marveling. A smile lit her face as she imagined herself smiling. But slowly, she turned. Then, she found herself staring into innocent irises.

She gasped. Her eyes shot open. She fell back and slipped. Landing on tile, soaked in the spray of water, she shifted back. The eyes, the eyes continued to flash in her mind, haunting her. And suddenly, they were gone. She was looking up to see a shower head and water pouring down. White walls, green and white tiles, shampoo bottles, sponges, soap bars and soap dishes, face wash, she calmed down her beating heart. Falling back against the barrier, she closed her eyes and saw the pair of irises, a small child's eyes stare back at her. What had shocked her though was their color. The irises were brown, yet predominantly gold as if something was trying to take over. Most of all, they were not only gold, they were filled with intensity, the same as Sesshoumaru's.

Opening her eyes, she shook her head. "I can't think about this anymore," she uttered, standing and to resume bathing herself. Yet all the while, the gold and brown eyes wouldn't stop staring.

When Rin left the shower, she quickly dressed and left to clean her studio. She entered and closed the door with an exasperated sigh as she took a look around the first compartment. Still, she set forth, setting sculptures in place, righting the paintings on the walls, picking up brushes and paints and sculpting tools, she pushed stools aside and organized all of her supplies. In the third compartment, she gathered the cushion covers, the blanket, and rug, carrying them out into the hall for the janitors to take for cleaning. As she pulled out some new cushion covers, another rug and blanket, she paused to pick up the pieces of the stool Sesshoumaru had shattered the night before. She didn't discard the pieces. Instead, deciding she could find use for them some other time, she placed them in a bin for later material. Then she returned to her previous task of righting her studio.

However, in the midst of her cleaning, she stopped when she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror. Out of the corner of her eye, she had thought the image to have changed, shifted right then and there. She stepped back and stared into the mirror. Nothing, it was still her.

"I must've been imagining it," she muttered. She shook her head, sighing as she moved away only to stop hearing a voice whisper, "When will he accept me?" Rin turned one way, turned another, and then another. No one was there, but she heard the child. She heard the break in their voice, the sadness of their tone. Suddenly, she was hearing her own voice reply, "Forget him, my love…just forget him." But her lips hadn't moved. She wasn't the one to say it.

"Why does he hate me," the voice cried. The child was crying, sobbing as they searched for an answer. They wanted to know. They had to know because it was unfair. Hated, they questioned, there was no reason to be hated was there? Rin clutched her hands to her heart. She wanted to reach out and embrace the little girl she heard crying. Something, anything, she wanted to tell her, "No, no, he doesn't hate you," but inside, she knew it was a lie. The child was despised by whomever the man was and she couldn't comfort the little girl. She couldn't hold her and stop her tears. So when she heard the voice like her own answer, she knew there was no other answer. "Because you're the child he had wanted…but decided he would never have."

The gold and brown eyes flashed in her mind, staring at her, pleading with her. Burning into her, reaching into her heart and pulling at the chest, the memories that warned her not to be opened, but she and the self in the memories knew this was the right one. This was the one her memories were to awaken to. It was the little girl, to her gold and brown eyes, that the chest had been ripped apart and the memories liberated. Feeling the pull, the twist, and anticipating the oncoming onslaught, she fell to her knees and closed her eyes. Focusing on those gold and brown orbs, feeling the chill and intensity that surged through her, she knew there was an emotion there. There was an expression in the eyes that she couldn't find, but she would find it. She would see it!

"I'm sorry," she heard her voice cry, "I'm so sorry."

"No," the little girl screamed, "Don't leave me! Please don't leave me!"

"I won't," her voice soothed, "I will never leave you. Dead or alive, I belong to you." She broke down in tears. The sadness and misery consumed her, enveloping her in the torrent of shaken, soon to awaken images.

"I am yours," she heard herself cry, "I am all yours, no one else's. You are my heart," the voice stressed, "and my life and I will do what I must to be beside you." She embraced herself, scared of the intensity and determination of her coming conviction. A promise in her mind that couldn't be discerned, the words too broken and faded to know, but it repeated, resounding with her sadness and strong enough to shake the heavens from their place and the earth from its seat, "Whatever I must to give you eternity!"

"He hates you," her voice cried.

"Why," the little girl pleaded, "Why?"

"Forget him," she couldn't control her tears, angered by the insanity and the irony, in anguish at the truth slapping them all in the face, "Forget him. He will never accept you. He will never love you."

It slowed and she fell over, curling into herself, but her strength had disappeared. Nothing was left. The anger, the pain, the sadness, being betrayed, and all the treacheries of the world bearing down on her were gone, she couldn't feel them anymore and so, they had left her hollow. Yet in this barren space, she could feel one last flame of a small candle, flickering, but holding strong against the darkness that threatened its existence. This little flame that held her hope, her love, her happiness, it was so small and still so bright, reaching her from the depths of the gaping hole in her heart.

"You promise," the little girl asked happily.

"I promise," she heard her voice reply.

"Are you dying," the little girl asked, a little saddened.

"Yes, my love, I am dying," but there was no sadness, only calm. She was at ease and took every last breath steady and assured. "I am dying," she repeated, stronger with all of her love, "but when you need me, I am here. I will protect you, watch over you. I am always with you," she smiled, pausing, searching for the warmth of the little girl to hold and calm, "In life, in death, in this time and the next and the one thereafter, I will always come to you. All you have to do is call my name…"

The little girl laughed, a sad ring as they both felt her life ebb away, waning in their grasp and shortening on time. Even when they knew they had eternity, the single moment from life to death and death to life was enough to break their hearts. Still, they held on and smiled, not wanting that moment, that final step to their forever.

"You belong to me," the little girl stated softly, a hidden request for confirmation, for reassurance and security.

"Yes," her voice answered.

"What about that man," the little girl asked. Curious, she was curious and questioned the ties of love and lust, claim and care. She wanted to know.

"When he rejected you," her voice answered gently, "he rejected me. I do not belong to him anymore and I never will again." Her heart tightened as her mind echoed the words, "I never will again." That's right, she thought, never again. I don't belong to him, she screamed inside.

"Are you sure," the little girl asked, "What if he did accept me? What if he regretted it and realized his mistake or-?"

"No," her voice snapped. Anger in her flared, burning, smoldering, wanting to kill, yet at the thought of a man she couldn't discern, hatred and love burned too closely together, anger and hope interlaced in a deadly dance on the a fine line between what was and what wasn't. Her heart reached for the man, as well as pushed him away, protecting him from the grasp of her treacherous hands and mind, ready to kill and take back what had been so willingly given before.

"No matter what happens, no matter how he changes," her voice affirmed, "He made his mistake and there's no going back." She clutched her head, starting to cry over the misfortune, mourning over the cruel twists of fate that would be useless to regret. "I made my choice. Whatever he could possibly do will do nothing. He can't undo what has been done." She cried harder. Her body racked with sobs, overtaken with despair at how the notion of "too late" reverberated through her being.

It was too late for anything. There was no second chance. Even if they wanted it, none of them could ever have it. They were pushed back into a corner, especially her, not the man or little girl. In their eyes, it could be one-sided. They could take and give and still be on one side, but for her, it wasn't possible. It couldn't be true. She didn't want to lose either of them. She was caught on a line between them, in which stepping off on either side will destroy the one she didn't choose. What had been done created that line so thin, yet it seemed the most ideal, even though she knew no matter what, it wasn't. "The only way," she heard her voice mutter, "for me to be with him is if he didn't just kill you," her voice began shaking, "It's if he erased you."

The little girl didn't understand. "Why?" She began to cry. "Why would he have to...erase me?"

She wanted to hold the girl and tell her it's all wrong, she'll be alright. But it would all be a lie. Everything would shatter and fall apart and the demise she must avoid, she must never let another soul know would come for her. In the end, she was faced with only the truth. It was all she could say. Eternity wouldn't let her say any less or any more. "Because I belong to you," she answered, her voice breaking, "I am tied to you now and for all eternity," she searched once again for the little girl's warmth, the source of her existence and any existence from then on, "We have eternity," she whispered, "And because of our eternity, I cannot return to him. I cannot belong to him…if I belong to you. With this bond, I can only belong to one."

As if death was saying you have said enough, her life faded. The world blurred. She didn't know who's eyes she was seeing through. Was it hers? Was it the past? Shapes and colors disappeared, melted away, swept into the winds of life and death, crossing the line and the single barrier, it was her last step, the last step in confirming their bond. It was eternity.

Now, they had eternity. And as the single moment of darkness separated them, she was taken into the arms of death, enveloped by the howls of the hellhounds, surrounded by the imps who gather to destroy and create, renew and mold, confirm and finalize the pact. As the world faded, only one existed. Infinite souls, lives, times, and worlds all confined and together in one existence, soon that existence will become another. It will reform and be reborn as something different and new, a change through all time and space. She will disappear forever. She does not exist anymore, yet this has become her existence.

"Death, we are and do not. A minion of, a master of, repent and repay, conquer and control, not three, but four, this is our pact. In death, of death, am death, live. We made our deal. This is our promise. This is our eternity…"


End file.
